All of us have experienced days of having the floor give way no matter how gently we've tread, causing what little hope we held that day to fall into the gutter.
The Tunnel is comprised of such days. In twenty-three poems, Kurt Newton maps the long, dark passage out of depression - the anxiety of black days, the tiny monsters that harrow us, the second skin grown to fortify our bodies and minds, the undertow that grabs us and never entirely lets go. Yet this is not a book content to give in and remain in the dark. All tunnels must have an end, so we should look for some reflective glimmer to guide our way home even if that means shedding our skin, crawling through mud, and learning that pain is a choice, as is joy.
By the last page, we've arrived, we see that snow is falling, telling us to stay home ... relax ... enjoy this.